


TMI

by uena



Series: The Sweetest Thing [9]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Platonic Cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 18:11:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3660141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uena/pseuds/uena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athos comes home from his late brunch with Ninon, fervently hoping that Aramis and Porthos have made good use of their time together.</p><p>He hopes even more that they're DONE by now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	TMI

**Author's Note:**

  * For [princeyoungjaes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princeyoungjaes/gifts).



Athos is pretty sure he’s given them enough time. Reasonably sure at least. He hesitates before he puts the key into the lock and lets himself into the building, hesitates the whole way to the elevator.

God he hopes they’ve finished by now. … If it happened at all. Porthos said Aramis needed time, and that’s of course perfectly alright; Athos just thought that maybe, after Aramis’ behaviour on the previous night, it might be a good idea to give them some time alone. Yes. And that time is now over, because it’s late, and Ninon wanted to get back home, and so did Athos really.

He closes his eyes for a moment as the elevator bears him upwards, gets a strange enjoyment out of the familiar sensation of weightlessness when it reaches the top. Its doors open, and Athos steps out of the elevator and onto the plush carpet lining the hallway. He likes spending time with Ninon, but then he also likes spending time at home – likes spending time with Porthos and Aramis. It’s where he’s the happiest, really. In this house, with them.

He just hopes they don’t mind. He’s quiet, unlocking the big white door, is quiet getting out of his shoes and jacket. While he does in fact try not to _listen_ to anything, he can’t help but notice that it’s also very quiet in the apartment. Whatever happened here, it’s obviously over.

Athos lets out a little sigh, notices that the shower is running, rolls his eyes and moves over towards the kitchen area. He needs a nice cup of tea. He doesn’t notice Aramis on the couch, so when Aramis greets him with a deliriously happy “You’re _home_!” Athos very nearly yelps in surprise. He doesn’t, but it’s a close shave.

“What are you doing here alone?” Athos asks, his voice wonderfully smooth despite the heart palpitations Aramis gave him. He walks over to the sofa, because it would be rude not to, and only then does he notice the pyjama bottoms and the _pout_.

“Porthos wouldn’t let me shower with him,” Aramis informs him in a scandalized voice, and why Athos sits down next to him he has no idea. “He said I needed to calm down.”

Apparently Aramis did no such thing, for he more or less moves into Athos’ lap and wraps himself around him before he continues. “So I had to shower alone, Athos. _Alone_.”

Aramis is the first person in Athos’ life who is this implicitly tactile with him and searches out his closeness with such regularity that Athos wouldn’t even dream of pushing him away. Aramis is the only person besides Porthos who Athos doesn’t mind touching him, not even for a second. Not even when Aramis is in his lap and high on endorphins after having sex with Porthos. And isn’t that weird.

“How rude,” is all Athos comes up with in return, and Aramis makes a pleased noise and snuggles closer into him.

“That’s what I said! But then he did have a point. I mean –“

Athos closes his eyes. It’s quite obvious to him by now that Aramis has lost his filter yet again, and is probably about to tell him IN GREAT DETAIL –

“It was really, really nice of you to – to give me the chance to have that,” Aramis says instead – makes Athos look at him again.

Which is a mistake. Aramis is looking back at Athos, his eyes huge and soft and full of gratitude. “Thank you for … for letting me have him.”

Athos feels a bit like a rabbit caught in the headlights of an approaching truck. He cannot possibly tell Aramis he’s welcome. That would imply that Porthos was his to give away, and _that_ –

“It was amazing,” Aramis says in a dreamy voice, bombing that train of thought off the rails and sending it down a cliff engine first. “Porthos was amazing.”

Athos blinks … clears his throat. “I am glad to hear that.”

Aramis makes another happy noise and puts his head on Athos’ shoulder. “He’s … he’s really, really gentle, you know.”

“I know,” Athos replies, because he _does_ , even if not in this particular context. He feels strangely … proud, in a very weird way. Horribly weird actually. Aramis will be so embarrassed later … when this conversation catches up with him and he realizes what he said. Athos can’t help the fond grin that takes over his face at the thought. He likes this side of Aramis, can’t help that either. With anyone else it would make him uncomfortable, but with Aramis –

“He made me feel really good,” Aramis continues in a soft voice, and Athos doesn’t know how or why, but he relaxes, puts his arm around Aramis’ shoulders and pulls him closer.

“He did?”

“Yes,” Aramis murmurs, and Athos thinks he may be falling asleep on his shoulder – doesn’t mind that at all. “He’s really, really good at that.”

It doesn’t come as a surprise to Athos, and yet again he feels strangely proud. Which he shouldn’t. Not at all. Still. He does.

“I’m glad you liked it,” he hears himself say, and it seems that Aramis won’t be the only one who’ll be embarrassed later. Athos clears his throat and looks at the ceiling, rubs his hand over Aramis’ shoulder without noticing. “What I mean to say is –“

“I know,” Aramis interrupts him, _still_ snuggling closer. “I’m really happy, Athos.”

“I can tell,” Athos hears himself say, and then he turns his eyes back down and looks at Aramis again, because – damn it all to hell – he really _can_ tell, and it makes him really fucking happy to see Aramis like this. Aramis is sweet and surprising and _right_ for Porthos, and Athos couldn’t be happier that they’ve found each other. On the other hand he’s not too sure Porthos should find _them_ like this. But then again Porthos doesn’t mind. Porthos never minds. The closer Athos is to Aramis, the happier Porthos seems to be.

 

Porthos emerges from the bathroom ten minutes after Aramis has wrapped himself around Athos like an enamoured kraken. He grins when he finds them on the sofa in this rather compromising position, and Athos knows, Athos just _knows_ that Porthos is going to sit down right next to him and make this worse. Not that it’s a bad thing to be cuddled by Aramis like this. But still. Porthos really shouldn’t. He’ll get Athos used to this – and then what?

Athos has known Porthos long enough to know that he has no intention of ever leaving him behind, but that still doesn’t mean that Athos expects him to share his boyfriend with him like this. They should make more time for themselves, _take_ more time for themselves, instead of spending every free moment with Athos. … Maybe he should take himself off more often.

Aramis makes a happy noise when he espies his boyfriend, and then Porthos is already sitting down – right next to Athos, with one arm around Athos’ shoulders so he can bury his hand in Aramis’ hair. Aramis very nearly purrs, and Athos closes his eyes, clears his throat. “You had a nice day?”

“Very nice,” Porthos assures him in a satisfied voice.

Athos can _feel_ his dirty grin. Still. This is quite alright. Athos doesn’t mind. Not even when Porthos continues. “Did Aramis already tell you all the steamy details?”

“No,” Aramis answers sleepily while Athos glares at Porthos to keep up appearances, “I was waiting for you.”

Porthos chuckles and Athos very nearly groans. He hates this. … No he does not. But he should.

Aramis moves a little closer to him, apparently rendered completely will- and helpless by Porthos’ hand in his hair. Athos lets him, because what the fuck else is he supposed to do? Even if Aramis would allow him to move away, Porthos sure would not … and then Athos doesn’t really want to. So he stays where he is, and decides to see this through to the end. “Tell me then,” he drawls, turns his head and looks right into Porthos’ eyes. “Let me have all those steamy details.”

Porthos just grins at him, fond and all too soft, and draws his mouth into a little pout. “All of them?”

“All of them,” Athos says, and something wicked jumps into Porthos’ eyes. In the end he doesn’t divulge anything, pulls his hand out of Aramis’ hair to tousle Athos’, and gets up. “Well, let me tell you this: it made me mighty hungry. I’m gonna cook.”

“Order a pizza,” Athos tells him, somewhat impatient, and automatically pulls Aramis a little closer when he makes a displeased noise.

“What, you don’t wanna wait for me to finish cookin’?” Porthos asks with a teasing smile. “I thought you had a late brunch with Ninon. You already hungry again?” He moves over to the kitchen area and thus out of reach – abandons Athos to a sleepy and very cuddly Aramis. “I think I’m gonna _make_ pizza – from scratch.”

Athos could tell him that he hates him, but then they both know that’s a lie. Still. “I hate you.”

“You do not,” Porthos says comfortably. “You love me – and my cookin’. Have Aramis tell you the steamy details if you wanna know 'em so bad.”

Athos opens his mouth and closes it again – turns his head to look at Aramis and encounters a sweet little smile. “I can tell you. I don’t mind.”

Athos hears Porthos make a surprised noise, and his eyebrows seemingly want to express a similar sentiment – move high enough up his forehead to hide in his bangs.

“It’s quite alright,” he hears himself say, and gently brushes the hair out of Aramis’ face. “As long as you enjoyed yourselves, I’m happy.”

“I did,” Aramis states innocently, and Athos turns his head to look at Porthos – encounters a smug little grin and a tell-tale blush.

Athos sighs and relaxes into the sofa, closes his eyes. He loves these idiots, he really does.


End file.
